I move my eyes up close to the wall or the pavement, looking for beauty in cracks, peeling paint, dirty cement, dying pink leaves. Layers appear, layers of time and history. I see a patch of wood beneath a chipping, peeling layer of the past. It breathes itself back out into the light of my day. I'm buying it. I'm buying into its story. I'm letting myself be sucked into its convoluted plot, the wonders of oxidation, the cycles of birth, death and rebirth. I click the shutter button on my camera. I do my best to capture what can never be captured.

I'd like to buy more picture frames and mats. But first I have to buy more prints. I'd like to buy buy buy. That's the truth. I can't deny it. I wish I could, but too many things - inexpensive or expensive or free - please me.